


a broken messiah

by wonhaebunny



Category: Death Note & Related Fandoms, 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: BAMF Midoriya Izuku, Bakugou Katsuki is a Good Friend, Canon-Typical Violence, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Vigilante Midoriya Izuku, we interrupt my regular bkg fics to post one (1) deku-centric fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:20:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28360812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonhaebunny/pseuds/wonhaebunny
Summary: 'Follow the teachings of God, and receive his blessings.And so it shall be that the seas will again become bountiful, and the raging storms will subside.'-somewhere in musutafu, izuku midoriya finds a death note.
Relationships: Bakugou Katsuki & Midoriya Izuku, Midoriya Izuku & Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 31
Kudos: 149





	a broken messiah

**Author's Note:**

> this fic was supposed to be called "deku note" >:(
> 
> yeah trying out some deku-centric for once? it's still gonna heavily involve katsuki tho so :|

It starts with a black notebook.

Izuku first sees it in English class, watches from his classroom window as it flutters down from the sky.

Perhaps it was thrown, he muses to himself. Or it could be the product of a quirk.

It settles in the gardens on the edge of the school grounds, hidden between a cluster of thick, flowering bushes.

He stares at it intently for the rest of the lesson, waiting for someone to come and retrieve it.

But no one approaches the bushes.

And when the remaining two classes pass and school lets out for the day, the book is still nestled in the garden, untouched.

“Oi,” Kacchan grunts, nudging him out of his contemplation. “You planning on sleeping here overnight or something?”

Izuku blinks, turning his gaze to the classroom to find that it’s completely empty. His childhood friend is the only other one remaining, standing at his desk to study him with thinly veiled concern.

“Oh!” he squeaks. “No, Kacchan, sorry! I just got distracted.”

The blonde follows his gaze to the garden, eyes narrowing.

“You good?” 

It’s a demand more than a question, in the way that most of the things out of Kacchan’s mouth are. Izuku smiles nonetheless at the words, shaking his head slowly.

“No, I’m fine. I think I’ll head to the library today.”

Kacchan’s always hated going to the library. It’s too loud, he says. The irony of the logic is not lost on Izuku, on a superficial level. But the blonde has always been quiet when there’s no one to provoke him, preferring to keep to himself and only speak when it’s absolutely necessary.

This is probably why he only watches Izuku for a moment longer, before simply shrugging and trudging out of the classroom. 

After he’s sure the other is gone, Izuku packs his books into his bag and heads out to the garden.

The book is still there, dark cover obscured well by the shrubbery. He turns around briefly to check if anyone is nearby, before reaching forward to pull it away.

Despite the distance it had fallen, it’s in remarkably good condition, free of any creases or tearing, and completely spotless despite how long it had rested in the just-watered soil.

It has two words on the front. _Death Note_ , emblazoned in white using an odd English font. Izuku turns it in his grasp, leafing through it to find that, save for the very first few, the pages are bare, the paper heavy and smooth under his touch.

Good quality, he notes absent-mindedly. He goes through notebooks like All Might does villains, has used them enough to be able to recognise expensive paper from the cheaper varieties.

The first pages at the front of the book are black, with bullet points filling it in the same white English font. Underneath the English, in a slightly smaller size, there are Japanese translations to each line.

 _How to use_ , the title reads, the same on each black page. 

Izuku glances around himself quickly, before deciding to tuck the book into his bag and head home.

It’s after he’s in the safety of his room, door locked behind him and mother busy in the kitchen, does he open the book again.

The first rule of the book is the shortest.

_The human whose name is written in this note shall die._

The same sentence, both in English and Japanese.

Below it, similar rules set out the conditions for the book’s use. _This note will not take effect unless the writer has the person’s face in their mind when writing his/her name. If the cause of death is written within 40 seconds of writing the person’s name, it will happen. If the cause of death is not specified, the person will simply die of a heart attack._

There are over 60 pages of such instructions, outlining in explicit details the rules of this Death Note.

Izuku blinks at the item, chewing his lip.

It seems like a prank book, the type that middle schoolers tend to pass around jokingly.

But it’s… remarkably well-constructed. It seems like too much work for a stupid prank, to print a book like this, to write out dozens of pages of rules with such high quality, expensive material. The title is even embossed on the leather cover.

And besides, with a world filled with such remarkable quirks, it’s really not that inconceivable that such a book _could_ exist. Maybe it’s the product of someone’s quirk. Or maybe it _is_ someone’s quirk somehow. With all the different quirks Izuku has studied in the past decade or so of his life, this one would be one of the most intriguing. Some of the rules are almost _laughable_ in their inordinance. On page 31, for example, it’s stated that the pages of the Death Note will never run out. But when he flicks through the book, it feels like—well, it feels like a _normal book_. Completely inconspicuous, with a seemingly finite number of pages. 

Similarly, many of the earlier rules of the book reference _gods of death_ as the owner of such books. Izuku has heard of Shinigami, as most teenagers his age have. But such spirits have always been distant; creatures of childhood tales. The idea of such a spirit existing, tangible enough to own such an item as the one Izuku holds in his hand, and _using_ said item to kill humans as it pleases… it’s ridiculous. Izuku knows that quirks are advancing in power significantly with each generation, but this is unfathomable.

He’s mulling over the possibilities when there’s a creak from behind him.

“You found it, then.”

Izuku screeches, whipping around only to find himself cowering back under the hulking mass that looms over him. 

It’s _huge_ , the top of its body brushing lightly against the ceiling as it takes up the larger part of the already-small bedroom. In the dim of the evening, the creature’s form is hidden by shadows, golden eyes gleaming from the depths of the darkness.

“Oh my god,” Izuku breathes.

“You haven’t used it?” the creature asks. Its voice is low, smooth and musing in a way that tingles at the nape of his neck. 

Izuku gapes, mouth opening and closing again in sheer terror. The huge monster is silent for a moment, before it takes a step forward, shadows partially falling away behind it as it comes into the light.

It’s a female, the boy realises distantly. Body distinctly humanoid despite its warped, unnervingly thin proportions. Long, matted black hair falls over inhumanly bony shoulders, a deep black robe covering the larger part of the creature’s stiffly-postured form. Its face—no, _her_ face, is completely obscured by the locks of tangled hair that fall in front of it. She looks like she’s stepped straight out of a horror movie.

“Um,” Izuku says hoarsely. “Hello.”

She tilts her head downward in response, amber eyes scrutinising as she towers over him.

“You found my book,” she murmurs finally.

He blinks. Then, after a beat of silence, “Oh my god. You’re a…”

The sentence trails off, the boy feeling somewhat silly saying it out loud.

“A Shinigami,” she finishes for him tonelessly, having no such qualms. “I am Rise. And you are the new owner of my Death Note.”

Izuku stares at her, following her gaze to the black book he’s been clutching to his chest unconsciously. He drops it onto the desk immediately, like it’s burned him.

“N-no,” he rushes out, “I just found it in a bush. It’s—I’m not—”

The Shinigami, Rise, tilts her head at him, clearly judging.

“I was under the impression you’d read the rules of the book,” she states flatly.

Izuku recoils. 

“I did!” he cries, half-terrified and half-indignant.

Rise clicks her tongue quietly, which is somewhat unnerving considering Izuku still doesn’t know what her face looks like beyond her piercing gold eyes.

“Then you will know that the moment the note touched the ground of your world, it became the property of said world. For all purposes, the Death Note is now yours to use, boy.”

“I don’t want it,” he announces quickly, pushing his seat away from the desk where the book sits.

Rise is silent for a moment.

“Then give it away,” she says simply. “Give it away and I will leave with it, to whichever human you choose to burden with it.” 

A pause, before she draws even closer. Finally, the shadows fall away from her face, hair swaying aside to reveal pale skin marred by a scar that stretches from cheek to cheek, extending the seam of her mouth at both sides. Like Kuchisake-onna, Izuku notes numbly. The sight is gory, dried blood still clinging to the edges of the puckered wound and pale teeth glinting from the gaps. It takes him all of his effort to keep looking at her despite the gruesome image.

“But be aware of the power you will be granting the next owner of the note. It has potential beyond your comprehension.”

Izuku freezes, turning his gaze back to the book.

It’s true. If, and that is a big _if_ , the Death Note really has such powers, then he has no idea who he’d give it to. His only friend is Kacchan, and it’s not like Kacchan would have any desire or need to kill people. Giving it to the authorities would just raise a lot of difficult questions. And he can’t just _leave_ it somewhere, either, because that’s basically just asking for an ill-intentioned person to find and abuse it. The ability to kill people as one pleases, requiring no more than a name and face, to be able to control the way in which they die—it’s overwhelming in the possibilities it holds.

His best bet is probably to keep it hidden away, so that no one can use it—including him.

With that conclusion, he slowly reaches forward, before shakily taking the book and shoving it in his desk drawer, under a pile of papers. He then locks the drawer for good measure.

“I’m not using it,” he says stiffly. “Not now, not ever.”

Rise studies him for a long, heavy moment, scarred lips pressing thin. There’s an odd, calculating look in her eye.

“We’ll see,” she replies finally. 

She doesn’t push the topic further, simply gliding back into the shadowy corner of the room and lapsing into silence with that.

She isn’t leaving, Izuku realises with an uneasy pit in his stomach. One of the first rules of the Death Note had been that the original owner of the note would follow the new owner until the new owner’s death.

It seems that as long as he’s in possession of this stupid cursed book, he’s going to have to get used to Rise’s presence—split mouth and all.

Getting to sleep that night is difficult, to say the least. It takes Izuku a good few hours to adjust to the cloaked, towering figure that stands, almost _floats_ , rod-straight in the corner of the room silently. Every time he thinks he’s finally gotten to sleep, he shifts in his bed, catches sight of Rise’s forgotten, unmoving figure, and almost gives himself a heart attack.

By the time he _does_ fall asleep it’s the early hours of the morning, and his alarm goes off what feels like mere seconds later.

When he wakes, Rise is still floating in the corner of the room. By now, the morning light is filtering in through the window, illuminating his cramped room brightly. In the light, he can study her a little more clearly.

Her hair isn’t actually black like he’d thought; rather, it’s a dark, bluish-purple that seems to shimmer under the light. She’s watching him intently, as she seems to have done all night.

Izuku doesn’t dwell too long on that particular thought for his own sake.

The boy and the god study each other for a moment, assessing. When it becomes clear that Rise is not going to speak, Izuku clears his throat roughly.

“I… have to go to school,” he announces a little stupidly. In response, Rise’s head dips ever-so-slightly in acknowledgement. Izuku puffs out an awkward breath, before pushing off his bed and heading to the living room.

There’s a rustle behind him, and when he turns curiously, Rise is stationed right at his back wordlessly.

“ _F-Jesus!_ ” he hisses, clutching his chest. “You can’t—my mom will see you!”

The Shinigami simply tilts her head toward him slightly, not reacting to the way he instinctively flinches backward away from her.

“She won’t.”

As if on command, his mother sticks her head in through the kitchen entranceway, a cheerful grin on her face. 

“Izuku, darling, come have breakfast!” she calls, completely ignoring the giant, spindly creature by her son’s side as she ducks back into the kitchen. Izuku stares wide-eyed at the entrance where she had just stood, before whipping around to stare at an impassive Rise.

“Wha-?” he squeaks.

Rise blinks slowly at him, unimpressed. But there’s an odd glint to her eye, almost amused as she hovers stoicly beside him.

Izuku fights the urge to pout, instead huffing and deciding to more-thoroughly read the rules of the note after school.

“No one can see you, then?” he asks out of the corner of his mouth, just to make sure.

Rise nods once, and Izuku relaxes, heading out of his room.

To his relief, Rise doesn’t follow him into the bathroom, simply choosing to hover outside the door silently. Not talkative, he muses. He’s not sure what he expected of a god of death—are they all like this, or is Rise just particularly standoffish? How many Shinigami _are there_?

He’s too nervous to ask her, so instead he simply mulls over his seemingly endless questions as he gets ready, scarfing down his breakfast and trudges to school. No one looks at him oddly, despite her hulking presence at his side. It’s disconcerting, but he slowly grows accustomed to being the only one who can see her.

When he reaches class, no one spares him a second glance.

That is, excluding Kacchan, of course, who cuffs him upside the head roughly.

“You look fuckin’ dead on your feet, dipshit,” the blonde mutters. “Stand up straight and lose the deer-in-headlights look, yeah?”

At the words, Rise, who’s been utterly silent at his side up till this point, makes an odd, quiet huffing noise. Izuku turns to stare at her, bemused, before he realises with a jolt that she’s _laughing_.

When her soft, rasping chuckles subside, she tilts her head ever-so-slightly, letting her tangled hair fall away from amber eyes.

“I like this one,” she says quietly, studying the unaware blonde teenager, who’s still fussing over Izuku roughly. It’s the first thing she’s said since they left Izuku’s house.

The green-haired boy frowns, giving her a flat look out of the corner of his eye before turning away pointedly.

Of _course_ she likes Kacchan of all people. Figures.

Classes pass like normal. It’s somewhat distracting, watching Rise glide between seats and read over his oblivious classmates’ shoulders curiously, but at least it keeps lessons interesting. Before he knows it, lessons have ended and he’s walking back home again.

That evening, he reluctantly pulls the Death Note out from his drawer to read the rules and conditions more carefully. It seems that in order to see Rise, one would have to have touched the Death Note. That explains why Izuku is the only one who she’s visible to, then.

Rise is standing by his side, watching him study the note quietly.

“Are... are all Shinigami this quiet?” he asks tentatively after a moment’s hesitation. At the words, her gaze snaps to his, analysing.

There’s a beat of silence, and then—

“No, I’d imagine not. We all have our own personalities and preferences.”

Izuku nods slowly, some of his anxiousness melting away at her simple but genuine response. It gives way to curiosity that he quickly shoves back down before he ends up launching into questioning. 

The book, after another half hour of silent reading, is put away again. He reads all of the rules about the Shinigami, and owning the Death Note, but ends up skimming over most of the conditions regarding the _use_ of the note, more out of stubbornness than anything else. Rise’s eyes linger on the locked drawer long afterward, before she eventually turns away from it.

The next day on the way to school they pass a pair of high schoolers outside a conbini. One of them is a male, boxing the other, a girl, up against a wall with a leering grin. The girl is clearly uncomfortable, shifting anxiously, and leaning away from him as best she can. 

Izuku pauses at the sight, frown subconsciously making its way onto his face at the slightly-panicked expression the girl wears. As his legs slow to a stop, Rise turns to study the scene intently.

The pair of high schoolers look young, maybe only a year or two older than Izuku himself. But the male is big, tall and muscled enough that he could probably bench press Izuku if he tried.

Rise turns her gaze to meet his, that familiar, unreadably calculating look overtaking her yellow eyes.

“You could stop this,” she says seriously. “You want to. I can see it in your eyes.”

Izuku turns to give her an incredulous look.

“Me? Have you _seen_ the size of that gu—” 

His words catch in his throat, Rise’s heavy, austere tone finally registering in his mind. His gaze hardens, and he gives the Shinigami a harsh glare.

“I told you I’m not doing that.” he says sharply, turning away and pulling his gakuran tighter around his body.

He’s not much use stepping in like this, but he can’t just _leave_ either.

But then there’s a shout from the side, and like clockwork, Izuku and Rise turn in unison to see _Kacchan_ of all people, storming up to the pair of high schoolers and shoving the male away roughly, beginning to berate him. Of _course_ Kacchan would step in, Izuku thinks proudly, watching on in awe. The blonde has always been fearlessly heroic, the first to step in or speak up in such situations. His vitriolic dressing-down ends up drawing the attention of a good few passers-by, and the older male finally ends up cowering away under the blonde’s tirade, storming off and leaving the girl thanking an irritated-looking Kacchan profusely, bowing over and over.

He grins fondly at the sight, watching as Kacchan begins to blush slightly despite his grumpy scowl. The blonde stomps away, looking somewhat flustered with the attention as he leaves the girl behind without another word.

Izuku turns to give a pointed, slightly-smug look at Rise, whose expression has shifted from the previous interest to its usual flat impassiveness. 

“See?” he sniffs. “No murder necessary.”

She doesn’t dignify the jab with a response, simply moving ahead wordlessly with her scarred lips pressed tightly together.

The note remains untouched in Izuku’s desk drawer.

  
  


The next week, he’s walking to the grocery store to pick up some miso paste and tofu for his mom when he witnesses a young woman kick over a homeless man’s plate of food. It hadn’t even been in the way of the path; the old man had been sitting off to the side of the pathwalk. She had gone out of her way to do it, a disgusted, irked frown on her lips as she carelessly stalked off, leaving the man staring helplessly at his dirtied food. 

Rise is already at Izuku’s side before he registers the angry glare he’s directing at the woman’s receding back.

The Shinigami at his side gives him a deliberate, heavy look that he promptly ignores in favour of stepping forward to buy the devastated-looking man a new plate of hot food from a nearby stall.

Rise doesn’t speak, simply staying silently at his side as he brushes away the man’s eager gratitude and heads off to the grocery store like he’d planned.

There are a few more occurrences like this, where Rise subtly reminds him of the note and he brushes her off easily. 

She’s never quite _pushy_ about it, but it’s clear that she wants him to use it for whatever reason.

“Why do you care so much?” he demands finally, whirling to face her in the middle of another such day. “What’s it to you whether or not I use the book?”

Rise simply blinks her gold eyes at him guilelessly.

“It’s a waste,” she replies simply. 

Izuku scowls, turning away from her and speeding up his steps in a fruitless attempt to leave her behind.

She catches up to him effortlessly, but he ignores her for the next hour. 

A _waste_ , he huffs irritably. A _waste_ to not abuse the power to _murder_ people at a whim.

Even the mere prospect of using the note makes his stomach turn.

Izuku has always been soft-hearted. 

He’s the one who cries at the end of every movie, the one who has to call someone to squish bugs for him.

The idea of him _killing_ someone—it’s almost laughable.

Of course, it takes all of two weeks for _that_ particular sentiment to go flying out the window.

He’s sitting at his desk as usual, doing his homework as the daily news plays on his laptop in the background.

Kacchan and some of the boys from their class had gone to the arcade today after school. The blonde had invited him, but Izuku’s never really enjoyed spending time with their classmates aside from Kacchan, so he declined as usual.

He’s just finishing off his math homework when a name catches his attention from the news report.

‘... _attack taking place near Aldera Junior High School, there are currently six heroes on-site working to…_ ’

Aldera—that’s Izuku’s school. The boy blinks, pushing away his math book to tug his laptop closer and turn the volume up.

The news reporter is positioned outside the front of Izuku’s school, addressing the camera with a serious yet almost fervent expression.

‘ _... from current eyewitness accounts, it’s speculated that the hostage is a student of Aldera. You can see here, the uniform seems to line up with Aldera’s own…’_

The camera pans over to the attack, and Izuku’s heart _stops_.

It’s Kacchan.

The hostage is _Kacchan_ , ashen hair and black uniform unmistakable even when engulfed in grey sludge.

The blonde is struggling viciously, writhing in the villain’s viscous grasp. He seems to be shouting, but his voice is inaudible over the screams of the crowd. Almost his entire body is wrapped in the greenish-grey slime substance that the villain seems to be made of.

The camera then turns to display the on-call heroes, who stand and watch the scene with apprehension.

There are at least ten heroes now, and Izuku subconsciously identifies some of the familiar ones off the top of his head. Kamui Woods. Backdraft. Death Arms. 

They’re famous heroes, with good rescue statistics. 

Kacchan will be fine… right?

But Izuku watches, and the reporter continues to talk, and the heroes don’t move.

They simply stand back and _watch_ , while Kacchan thrashes in the villain’s grip.

Bile rises high and acrid in Izuku’s throat as the camera returns to focus on the reporter, just in time for her to grimly announce, ‘ _... the on-site heroes are currently waiting for a hero with a quirk more suited to this rescue. It seems the victim will have to hang in a little longer. He’s doing a remarkable job of it already, as you can see, the young man is still fighting…_ ’

She rambles on, as the frame shifts to Kacchan, whose wide-eyed, _terrified_ gaze is displayed clearly across the screen even as he grapples with the villain, weak explosions smothered almost instantly by sludge.

Scared. Kacchan is _scared_.

The sight of it is jarring, such an unfamiliar emotion emblazoned so clearly across his normally-untouchable friend’s face.

“Kacchan…” he breathes, heart in his throat.

Rise, who’s been watching silently, draws up at Izuku’s side smoothly. She doesn’t speak this time, but he feels her eyes on the side of his head when he shakily pulls the Death Note from his desk drawer.

A name and a face. He needs a name and a face.

He has the face, but how is he supposed to know the villain’s name?

As if sensing his struggle, Rise moves closer, until she’s almost draped over his shoulder.

“There is a deal,” she begins purposefully. “It is described in the rules of the note. You can obtain a Shinigami’s eyes in return f—”

She’s interrupted by Izuku’s hasty hushing, and the boy turns the volume of the laptop up quickly.

‘ _... the villain is suspected to be Shimamoto Shuichi, a 31-year-old male who has been on the run for the past 14 months following numerous charges of assault, battery…_ ’

On the screen, beside the reporter’s name, a mugshot is blown up, undeniably the villain currently holding Kacchan hostage.

“Shimamoto Shuichi,” Izuku repeats.

He has the name and he has the face.

He stares at the blank page, before reaching for a pen and uncapping it. As he sets it to the paper, scrawling out the name in the first blank page, he can’t help but huff to himself shakily.

He’s spent the past few weeks resolutely telling Rise of the impossibility of him using this book, and here he is now.

It’s almost embarrassing how quickly he switched gears.

But Kacchan has always managed to worm his way into Izuku’s life, flipping everything on its head without even realising it. He’s like a supernova, effortlessly radiant and blinding and larger-than-life.

Maybe that’s why it’s so easy for Izuku to discard his reservations when it comes to him—because when he thinks about it, there’s very little he wouldn’t do for Kacchan.

When the name is written, he opens the mini-clock on his laptop taskbar, meticulously measuring the time that passes.

“40 seconds, right?” he murmurs.

“Yes,” Rise responds from over his shoulder.

She sounds as imperturbable as always, even while Izuku physically trembles in anticipation.

At exactly the 41st second following the moment Izuku’s pen left the paper, Shimamoto seizes, his entire body convulsing.

There’s a brief moment of silence, where the reporter falters at the sight, and then the sludge is falling away, sinking into wet cement, and Kacchan is left shivering and damp and _free_ , swaying on his feet unsteadily.

Following a stilted pause, the heroes rush forward, and shortly afterward, the paramedics follow.

There’s a hushed communication, signals being exchanged between the professionals that aren’t decipherable from the screen.

  
  


Then, the reporter swallows, thickly enough that it’s faintly audible through her microphone.

‘ _It seems,_ ’ she says carefully, ‘ _that the villain has passed away. The paramedics suspect a heart attack to be the cause._ ’

Izuku puts the book down with suddenly shaky hands, as the gravity of what he’s just done dawns on him.

It’s real. The Death Note is real. And he’s just used it.

“Congratulations,” Rise says, and he slowly turns to meet her unsurprised, ever-so-slightly pleased gaze, “on your first kill.”

**Author's Note:**

> hi??


End file.
